Moving Forward
by Shaye Vespertine
Summary: House is a selfish bastard full of sarcasm, but when his immunologist stumbles upon an ...accident in the lab, House faces some difficult moments.Is he about to lose or find himself? Cotton Candy.Chapter 7 now up!
1. Eye of the storm

**MOVING FORWARD**

Chapter 1 -Eye of the storm-

* * *

House rushed towards the lab, uncaring of the throng of people surrounding him, screaming and running away from the scene, or of his leg, which throbbed in pain.  
Smoke filled the entire floor in a thick, dark cloud, so that he was forced to cover his nose with his free hand to proceed.  
In a matter of minutes Cuddy, Wilson and other doctors arrived at the scene, and though House could hear Cuddy's cryptic orders, a stormy chaos brewed inside himself.

It was imperative that he reach the lab, because his wildly thumping heart didn't look as if it would go back to beating normally.

Wilson saw him first; Cuddy was still giving orders for everyone to clear the area and for someone to call the services.  
He was about to say ... something, but he took one good look at House's face up close, and felt slivers of ice making their painful way down his gut.  
When he realised, with disbelief, where House was heading, he jumped in haste and seized his arm.

"Where do you think you're going? The lab isn't safe!"  
House looked at him a moment, and it was enough for Wilson to tighten his grip on his friend's arm.

"Let go of my arm."

Wilson squared his shoulders and tightened his lips, tensely holding House's steely gaze.  
"No, I won't let got of your arm. You're gonna stay clear of those doors."

Huse growled and pushed past him, thumping his cane with force on the floor, his limping steps determined to get to that door and go inside.  
Wilson chased him and seized his wrist again as Cuddy turned away from the security guards speaking to her, eyes narrowing sharply when she saw what was happening between House and Wilson.

"House you've never set foot in that lab and I ain't gonna let you start now. Stay here."

"Don't make me punch you, Jimmy. I'm going in there and if you know what's good for you, you'll get out of my way."

Cuddy's voice cut in sharply to rein in both men.  
"No on is going whithin 30 feet of those doors unless it's the firemen team we sent for. This is not a good time to play games, House."

"Dr. Cuddy kindly go to hell and take Dr. Wilson with you"  
Cuddy snarled as Wilson stepped between them.

"I am not going to suffer your foolishness, House! Clear the area before I have security escort you upstairs."

House wrenched free from Wilson's grip and side-stepped Cuddy, making his way to the lab doors once more.  
Cuddy barked at him to get back, but House limped on, seemeingly deaf to the dean's orders.  
When two burly security guards blocked his path, House snarled and raised his cane.  
"Get your dogs out of my fucking way, Cuddy!"

"House I will not tell you again. If you won't limp back towards your department I'll get a gurney to escort you on a stretcher and throw in some anaesthetics!"

Wilson tried to make him see sense one last time.  
"Come on man, be reasonable. Whatever it is you need it's gonna have to wait."  
House whirled round and lost all pretense of patience.

He started beating at the guards, whom stepped back, taken by surprise and a little wary of the doctor's feral face.  
"Damn you all, I have to get in there NOW-  
Cuddy cut him off, for she, too, was losing her barbed patience.

"Seize him!"

House roared like an anrgy bear and Cuddy actually stepped back in surprise as he shouted.

"Goddammit Cuddy, come off it! Cameron's in there!"

Wilson's mouth dropped, both horrified at the unexpected news, and shaken to see the snarky, perpetually unaffected man he knew very well acting so out of character about one of his 'ducklings'.  
Then it clicked and he let out a dismayed if somewhat comprehending groan.  
It wasn't just any duckling.  
It was Cameron.  
Next to him, Cuddy went pale.

Before they knew what this new, unpredictable House was about, he'd reached the lab doors.  
With a frustrated cry, House banged on them savagely with his cane. They were closed from the inside, as though blocked by something.  
But this didn't matter to House, who was by now so lost in the storm inside himself he couldn't have been made to reason any more than he could jog.

His heart beat erratically.  
No matter what would meet him on the other side, he wouldn't stop, because Cameron was in there somewhere and he, House, would drag her out if he was forced to crawl on all fours.

He pushed and banged at the doors, cursing as well as slamming his fists in frustration. He tried to remain calm and think rationally, but his jumbled thoughts were no longer coherent, and he was forced to rely on instinct.  
House banged at the doors once more, breathing heavily.

"Cameron!" Though he raised his voice, House felt it was more of a whisper coming deep from the region of his chest, instead of flowing from his mouth.  
He banged on the door once more, than again, and again, desperately listening out for her voice.  
Her voice, House incoherently thought, as long as he could hear her voice, he could hold on to enough strength to get her out.

There was a sound from the other side of the doors, like rocks hitting the floor.  
House froze, breathing heavily, straining to hear any other noise, because it could be Cameron.

A muffled voice meekly called out, and the sound was so faint as it reverberated through to House, he thoguht he'd imagined it.  
He banged on the metal doors with his fists, calling her name again, praying (without with being aware of doing it) that she was alive and would answer him.  
Once more, he was answered by muffled sounds that could have been coming from a crumbling wall or a struggling Cameron.

With bated breath, House listened again and tried to push the doors open, eve if only by a sliver, anything to be able to hear her voice.  
This time there was no doubt as to whether the sounds were real or not, or to what their source was.  
They were muffled gasps and pain-filled sobs that could only come from .  
House felt his heart twist painfully, and the feelings inside were so intense, he clawed at the door with renewed frenzied strength, trying to get inside.

"Help..."

"We're coming Cameron!"

Her cries rose an octave and became so cutting in their pain, Wilson's gut twisted in pity as they sent House into a maddened state, once more kicking and pounding and shouting.

"Greg! I'm in here!"  
More bangs, followed by cursing at Wilson's left, where Cuddy was impatiently waiting for the rescue team to arrive, her aggressive demeanor matched by his own burning question - what the hell is taking them so long?- but it was House he had to watch once more.

The lab had gone silent, and Wilson's heart sank; that wasn't a good sign.  
House pounded on the door, even more desperate than before, if that was possible, to hear her voice again.

"Allison!"  
Nothing.  
"Allison can you hear me? Stay awake!"

A muffled sob greeted his ears, and if he thought the pain in his leg was maddening, then this was enough to make his insides squirm.  
"I can't breathe ... help me ... Greg!"

"Can you move at all Allison?"

There was a catch in her breathing, ragged as it was.  
She found it difficult to raise her voice, and raising her head was out of the available options.  
When silence greeted him, House strained towards the doors again, which made grinding noises as they were pushed back, but didn't budge.  
He repeated her name again.

"Allison!"  
_God, please, please!! _"Baby talk to me!"  
He pounded on the solid steel doors once more, the metal cooling his face, but not his heart.  
House gripped the doorway tightly, now feeling sick with apprehension.

"I can't ... move...I don't ... Greg! Greg!"  
Never had Cameron sounded so desperate.

"I'm coming Allison! I'll get you out of there, love, I swear, just hold on for me!"

"Greg...please..."

As House let out a pained moan, Wilson's heart squeezed with pity.  
He'd suspected there was something between those two, but seeing House baring his soul like this, watching as he reacted painfully to Cameron's voice was not something he could easily fathom or bear, because despite everything, House remained his best friend, and his pain was affecting Wilson a lot more than his heartbreak with Stacy had.

Cuddy, too, observed House, but her eyes were unusually sad and understanding, even if somewhat awed to be seeing House of all people, so distraught, so completely gone from reality, focused on his and Cameron's pain and displaying so much emotion that had nothing to do with sarcasm. Then again, Cameron always had the ability to reach him in places forbidden to the rest of the world.  
She reflected that when all this was over, she'd give both House and Cameron a week off.

It had been so long since Stacy, Cuddy had unwittingly forgotten what the other true Gregory House could be like.  
But then again, thinking back to Cameron's and his face sometimes, she could see that he still lurked deep, deep inside, somewhere.  
Cuddy didn't know if there was truly a God up there, but she silently prayed he heeded her words and let Cameron live, for House's sake.

* * *


	2. When day turns to night

**MOVING FORWARD**

CHAPTER 2 - **WHEN DAY TURNS TO NIGHT**

* * *

The sound of thunderclap boomed loudly outside the window, where copious rivers of rain showered the glass, making the outside world blurry. The small hospital room was lit by fluorescent neons, making it vastly contrasted by the surreal dark world outside. It was sometime after 4 o'clock.  
The hospital had been closed off to all, and tried to dispatch home as many patients as it could, in the aftermath of the explosion the lab had suffered 30 hours earlier.  
Investigations were at their peak, so it was normal to see police officials and forensic science units prowling the corridors, talking to the staff and having brief meetings with Cuddy, who managed to look composed and professional as well as tired and harassed.

All the explosion victims had been quickly rushed to the ER, but Cameron had been moved to the Diagnostics department, on Cuddy's orders.

She still hadn't woken up and her vitals were stable - she'd been saved by a large shelf and the counter itself crashing on top of her, effectively taking the brunt of the explosion.  
Shock, it was diagnosed.  
Her mind was simply shutting down to escape the trauma she'd lived, to gain the necessary to recharge, so when she woke up, she'd be better equipped to deal with the memories. She had regular visitors, despite the fact that she was alone in a vast wing of the department.  
Among the visitors were Chase and Foreman, as well as Wilson and other sympathetic nurses she'd been friendly and sometimes had lunch with.

Of course, the investigators kept coming back, hoping to get a statement about what happened, but House forcefully drove them away each time - especially because it was once suggested that she be woken to answer their questions.  
House's reply was controlled but his eyes said it all, in their firm glacial clarity: you have one chance to go away and not come back till you're called, or I cane your asses now.

"We understand the seriousness of the lady's conditions, but it's imperative that she tells us about what happened in there."

House gazed at them coldly, perfectly composed and impassive.  
"And I understand that being an asshole is part of your job, but seeing as I am Dr. Cameron's physician, you better clear off or I'll have you escorted to the exit by Jimmy over there"  
He signalled to one of the security guards milling about the stairs and lifts, who immediately ambled over and stared pointedly at the policemen, whom walked out of their own accord, grumbling about the way they'd been treated.

Foreman walked out of Cameron's room and debriefed House on her conditions - no change - and took the stairs to the cafeteria.  
House turned round to look at the woman lying on the bed, and debated about resuming his place of vigil or hiding somewhere to clear his head. Popping a Vicodin in his mouth, he hobbled to the nurses' desk and informed them to keep an eye on Cameron whilst he was away. He felt compelled to go outside for some reason, so he made his way to the roof, slowly and dejectedly, looking tired and dishevelled, but his mind teemed with activity.

The feeling of the cold rain trickling over him caused him to shiver, but he moved closer to the edge anyway, looking out across the grounds to the lworld that ley beyond the hospital.  
The relative calmness of his surroundings contrasted greatly with the assault the past couple of days were having on his mind.

House placed his cane in front of him and rested both hands on it, head hanging down, so that uncomfortable rain drops made their way down his face, resting on his jaw before tumbling from his chin down to the ground.  
He knew it was very risky to saty out on a rooftop during a thunderstorm, but as of this moment in time, he felt his need to retreat far more impotant than his own safety.

"_Greg!"_  
House gripped his cane tightly.  
"_Help me!"_  
He shut his eyes tightly and ground his teeth in an attempt to gain control.  
"_I'm here! Greg...please!"_

He remembered walking away from his office when a rumbling sound traced its way from far below, and he wobbled for a fraction of a second, afraid he'd tumble to the floor.  
When it was over, he looked around disoriented, then heded downstairs. As soon as he set foot on the first floor, utter chaos reached him.  
Patients were running in the opposite direction, screaming and huddling. Nurses ran to and fro, shouting there'd been an explosion at the far end of the corridor. House immediately limped towards the source of panic, which happened to be the lab.  
His heart was lodged in his throat.  
Smke made it difficult to see and breathe.  
His leg protested at the rigorous pace he'd set to walking.  
His eyes stung form the smoke billowing out the double steel soors, but despite all this, House forced himself to walk on.

_"...you can't go in there! The lab isn't safe!"_  
Wilson's face was a blur in his memory, along with the vague form of Cuddy swimming at the periphery of his vision.  
"_Let go of my arm_."  
His breaths came out in ragged cacophony.  
"_Help...I'm in here!"_  
"_ALLISON!"_

House was as though split in two, one standing on a wet rooftop, with only half a brain, whilst the other lived on in the memories, where his eyes and ears and the rest of him could see and hear all that had gone on thirty hours earlier.  
And this is where the conflict lay - half of his mind wanted nothing more than return to normal, whilst the other half relentlessly pursued to remain in that place where the memories were disjointed and painful.  
He rebelled against the tugging of his heart, telling him to run to her and hold her and a do a lot more that was forbidden because she was unreacheable to him.

The sharp, booming clap of thunder sounded once more and echoed vastly in the open environment.  
How coult it be so difficult to be detached? House questioned.  
He'd never been the emotional type, in fact he regularly scorned those who were (like Cameron) and prided himself on his control and aloofness. There were times when he'd been sorely tempted to let his guard down, but those were best left unmentioned, even if his control always won in the end.

All of this was seemed to crumble, he reflected, till he was left standing naked and bereft, exposed to all hurts and the sorts of feelings that made his knees tremble, and he wanted none of it.  
But when he'd seen the smoke coming out of those doors, recalled the shaking as well as the rumbling noise with painful clarity, it was as though he became a completely different person, and all because this one woman, this tiny woman was trapped and seriously injured under the rubble, on the othe side of the steel barrier.

How could she do this to him?  
How could he lose control so quickly, so completely that he turned into a soft version of Dr. Jekyll to his Mr. Hide?  
How could Allison Cameron of all people turn him into a faithful lackey, ambitious of nothing more than keeping her in sight just by looking into his eyes?  
It had all happened so quickly...why was it taking him this long to get over it?  
House finally regained enough of his senses to step out of the rain and descend back to Diagnostics.

He settled himself as comfortably as he could in his office chair and turned up the volume to the music, pondering and thinking and raving till he exhausted himself into an unsettled sleep, deeply uncomfortable in his drenched clothes.  
Wilson woke him up not long after, and quietly told him to take a hot shower and get a change of clothes.

* * *

She'd slept through the afternoon and the evening, though she was stable and as 'healthy' as could be expected. Chase had the evening shift, so because Foreman had already done his shift, at precisely 12:06am House entered Cameron's room to check on her before heading home to sleep for a couple of hours, get a change of clothes and come back at 5am.

He stepped closer to the bed and quietly stared down at the tranquil face, fighting the unnatural itch to bursh a light kiss on both creamy smooth lids.  
One of the nurses forgot to take away the food trayt, so it rested on the bedside table. House frowned as his eyes dissected the cold, lumpy potatoes and limp vegetables. His mouth twisted in distaste when he looked at the thin, cold meat and quietly scoffed.  
He'd have to talk to Cuddy about this.  
The state of this food made it unfit nourishment for patients that had survived a horrifying experience but had yet to wake from their coma-like sleep. House frowned again and shook himself.

_Greg, you big softie_  
Despite his min'ds demand he regain control, he stepped closer to the bed and reached out a hand to softly caress Cameron's forearm.  
That touch alone brought instant memories back to the surface - _those_ particular memories - and with an abrupt motion, he backed away and shuffled towards the door.  
Before he had a chance to turn away from her completely, he noticed one of her fingers twitching, and froze.  
His eyes swiftly flew to her face, then swivelled up to the machine, noting with disbelief that her heartrate was slowly but steadily rising, meaning only one thing.  
She was waking up.

House exhaled a deep breath and resumed his touch, only this time he was lightly slapping her wrist, the impersonal touch of a doctor turned from the tender caress of a lover.  
"Open your eyes Cameron."  
Her eyelids flickered then slowly lifted, revealing murky eyes disoriented with slumber. House bent towards her face and her eyes squinted up at him briefly, then quickly squeezed shut. House dimmed the lights then came back to the bed side.  
Cameron opened her eyes once more, and this time they settled solely on the man standing by her bed.

Murky grey clashed with intense icy blue, and heart fluttered, picked up by the machine, before beating steadily once more.  
House waved a small torch light in front of her eyes and obediently followed it, then she gripped the bed sidebar and wiggled her toes. With a satisfied nod, House annotated her chart, then quietly stared at her, shifting his weight into a painless position.  
"House..."  
As though he'd been waiting just for that cue, he assessed her injuries with that cool tone of detachment he used in the conference room.  
House was back in control.

"You've suffered a fracture to your ribs and a slight concussion to the head. Your lungs are fine now but we had to hook you to respiratory support for a few hours, because of the pressure that had rested on your thorax for an indefinite amount of time. Apart from some becoming scratches and bruises that give you a cow's complexion, you're just dandy."

"Thank you for all you've done."

House was already out the room and on his way to the car park, he quietly informed the nurses that Dr. Cameron was awake.

* * *

A.N. ---- Thank you all so much for your enthusiastic support, I was really happy when I read so many reviews after just one page! Keep it up! As you can see, I have rewarded thos reviewers with a second chapter, this isn't usual for me, it takes me ages to get on with stories.  
Anyhow, to answer some of the questions: HOURON, is House/Cameron fics abbreviated. As to House's OOC in chapter one, he'd been well into shock by then ... also, there was an ... (clears throat) INCIDENT between him and Cameron in his office the night before, so he was still a bit iffy when it all happened. As you can all see, he's fighting to reagain control now, and is slowly succeeding.

DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!!

**Lady Zee**


	3. All good things

**MOVING FORWARD**

CHAPTER 3: **ALL GOOD THINGS...**

"You're ready to go home Dr. Cameron."

Cameron had been discharged half an hour ago, but she was still hanging around the clinic, trying to make herself as available ( as well as busy ) as possible; some patients had been explosion victims and the hospital was short-staffed because so many nurses took the rest of the week off, along with two other doctors.

She was bandaging a woman's arm when a discreet nurse told her she'd finish off, and that Dr. Cuddy asked to see her in her office. Cameron thanked her and slowly rose from her seat, wincing slightly and bringing up an arm to favour her ribs, still tender from the explosion. When she knocked on Cuddy's office, she felt somewhat drained.

"Come in."

Cuddy offered her a seat and a brief smile of understanding, looking somewhat troubled but still collected as usual.

"You wanted to speak to me." Cameron folded her hands on her lap.

"Yes, I know you were discharged today and I appreciate your help down at the clinic."

Cameron fiddled with the hem of her short waist-coat, unsure where this converstaion was going. "I know how short-staffed we are at the moment, after..." she sighed, tracing her hand across her brow tiredly, "...after what happened, so I thought I'd make myself busy."

"I appreciate what you're doing Dr. Cameron, as well as your sentiments, but I rather you went home."

Cameron had to struggle with words, so a slight pause ensued. When she replied, her voice was quiet. "Why?"

Cuddy's lips pursed into a straight line, sitting up straight, almost looking...uncomfortable in her stylish, somewhat rumpled suit. "You've been through an incredibly difficult experience in the past few days, Cameron. It would be quite all right to take a few days off work to recuperate and ... get back to normal, if you will. I am quite happy for you to take a 2 week break that the hospital will pay in full, of course, and I'm pretty sure they will manage without you in diagnostics."

Cameron looked startled. "Dr. Cuddy, I... thank you... I don't ... know what to say." Cuddy smiled, a rare frank smile that alleviated Cameron ever so slightly. "Just take it easy, and I'll see you at the end of the month." Cameron nodded and, taking that as her cue to leave, got up and after another brief thank you, left Cuddy's office.

* * *

"You see the thing is, I have this lump just under my armpit, and I was wondering just when is it going to go? It's really uncomfortable." 

House looked on blankly as the woman rambled on. "So you have a lump under your armpit and want it removed?" The woman nodded. "Yes, I've had it for quite a while now, and it just doesn't seem to want to go away." House hummed. "Mm-hmm ... and it never once occured to you that said lump might be just be breast cancer." The woman blinked, and suddenly House had had enough. Grimacing slightly as he hoisted himself off the stool, he brutally told her: "Women are the darnedest species, designed only for sex and to drive us men wild! My good ignorant lady, your husband is cheating on you."

"He's WHAT!?"

"You told me he's a doctor. If he doesn't notice his wife has a lump under her armpit, and said wife is resorted to be checked out in a clinic, he must be having a wonderful time with a 20 something young filly. Go up to the third floor and turn right to Oncology, speak to Dr. Wilson and have a good day." Just as he was about to step out of the room, House turned round and, unable to resist, called out: "By the way, say hi to your husband for me, tell him I don't blame him one bit!"

The door slammed just as the woman screeched indignantly, promising to bring to court and have his name and picture slandered over every newspaper. As it would turn out, the woman wouldn't actually do it because she did have in fact breast cancer and her husband was cheating on her, and she was simply too upset to deal with House's cruelty.

When he walked into his office House headed for the conference area, then moved past the board to the coffee machine. The pot was empty. Annoyance prickled him, so that he was noe thoroughly in a very dark mood. He could always re-fill it, but that would mean he;d be forced to drink coffee-flavoured hot water instead of the good brew Cameron made.

House lowered his head slightly, a pensive look crossing his features. When she'd woken up he instinctively wanted to dash to the nearest exit, because that was his nature, though he'd recently found deep feelings of old, stirring him into restlessness - dark, forbidden feelings he'd drowned since Stacey. Or so he thought. Cuddy had informed him Cameron had gone home and wouldn't return till the end of the month. Basically, they hadn't really spoken since...

Don't go there, an inner voice warned him. It isn't safe ground and you can't handle that with your cane and your bum leg, remember? House chuckled bitterly; oh yes, he remembered it every minute of every day.

"Who are you mentally undressing?" House stared at Wilson's good-natured smile and grumbled. "I would tell you, but your wife made me promise not to...oops! You weren't supposed to find out she was gives me some!" House looked appalled at his own apparent clumsiness and Wilson laughed, immediately understanding there were dee feelings brimming out of sight under the misogynist surface, and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. In the mean time, House had returned to stare at the coffee machine morosely, sighing in regret.

Wilson's eyes shifted from his friend to the coffee machine, back to his friend, and a smug ( though not evident ) smile made its way across his face. "Looks like you won't be getting any of that good coffee for a while."

House briefly looked at him then crossed the room till he stood in front of the window, looking out over the extensive hospital grounds. "What do you know? She's finally getting the praise she deserves and she's not here to hear it. Shame." Though his words were jesting, there was a seriousness to his voice that reached out to Wilson, whom stepped closer to House. "It's about time you recognised the place she has in your life." House sighed.

"It's going to be so hard without her; I'll have to drink watered-down coffee every morning, sort my mail, write out my own files, spend more time down in clinic ... think I should hire a temp?" Wilson was clearly not buying it. He studied his friend quietly, his face now slightly sad, his voice soft.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"What, figuring out how to get Cuddy pff my back about clinic hours? Jimmy, without Cameron sorting everything out I'm going to be an extremely busy man for the next two weeks."

"That's not what I meant."

House feigned impatience. "Give me some credit for at least _trying_ to understand what you're saying; it's not always easy, you know." Wilson looked at his older friend steadily, frustration mounting. "This! You and Cameron!" House didn't look impressed.

"Jimmy," he spoke carefully as though breaking bad news to someone who was either volatile, or not very bright and easily upset, "...there _is_ no me and Cameron."

"Exactly! Why don't you give her a chance, House? All this time you've been holding out on relationships with women because of what Stacey did to you, and it's not right! You say you don't like change, well screw change! You have to move on with your life, because if you don't it'll be too late and you will lose her." House's face shuttered, and when he spoke, he sounded bitter but more imortantly, dangerously quiet.

"Don't make assumptions about me, Wilson. Not all of us are comfortable with following their instincts like you. Right now, I really want to drop this cane and run two miles just for the hell of it, yet I'm not going to, simply because I can't."

"This is different." Wilson was umperturbed and not a guy to back down, or be intimidated by an alpha male. "We're not talking about you scratching a mere itch, House! We're talking about you shutting yourself away from everyone and everything that surrounds you. till you're overcome with bitterness and loneliness. I don't assume I know you, because I _do._ I know you better than you know yourself, and this feels like a horrible waste."

"So you're saying I should just go ahead and start screwing around like a bull with the first encountered cow? Cuz you know, once that's over, the bull wants new cow."

Wilson actually raised his voice. "Greg we are _people_! Not cows!"

House remained impassive. Wilson sighed and stared at the ground, then put hishands up in defeat, and backed away. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and cajoling. "You once told me you didn't like things to go to waste. But when I see an unfeeling man go insane and lose control for a woman he might never see again, and who clearly harbours deep feelings for that man, who in turn constantly pushes her and happiness away ... then I see waste." Wilson turned on his heels and walked out of the office, never looking back.

The man inside the office was left standing alone in a patch of shadows. Though both hands rested on his walking cane, he felt he would collapse at any moment.

_We don't need anything or anyone._

_If I lay here, if I just lay here_

_Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

_I don't quite know _

_how to say how I feel._

_Those three words are said too much_

_They're not enough._

* * *

The door shut behind her, softly. A simple click. 

She was wary of loud noises.

She set her bag dwon on the cold floor, too tired to take her soiled clother ous and give them a thorough wash. Cameron made her way to the bathroom, shedding her clothes as she opened the taps on her shower stall. Steam gently rolled around her as the hot water protected her in its cocooned embrace. She sighed and scrubbed herself clean, though she remained under the hot jet till her legs threatened to give out. Cameron shakily got out of the stall, treading carefully on the tile floor as she walked towards the towel rail. The fluffiness of the creamy white towel did nothing to dispel the cold, so she hurriedly scrambled to her bedroom, drying herself off carefully, searching for her body lotion.

When she was dressed, Cameron stood, her weary eyes looking out the window into the early frosty afternoon. She felt desolate, desperate and needy, and painfully alone.

_You say when it hits you, you don't mind_

_because when it hits you, you feel alive_

It was negative for lupus. She pulled her face away from the eye-pieces of the microscope, and jotted down something on her chart.

Cameron blinked, her breath forced in slow exhales when it desperately needed to come out in sharp pants. Her fingers felt icy and heavy, as though not quite part of her body, and she tucked them under her armpits, crossing her arms over he chest, careful not to pull at her sides. Her eyes closed momentarily, and behind her lids she saw the world crumbling around her, raining on her head, choking her -

She wheezed and stumbled away. Without quite knowing what she was doing, Cameron pulled a ragged sheet off one of the canvases in her art room. Shuffling through the drawers of the sturdy, paint-faded armoire, she pulled out her brushes and her palette, along with some paint tubes.

Cameron set to work, stroking and dabbing the paintbrush over the canvas, which began bleeding with colour, too bright and harsh, dripping on the floor like liquid rocks, dusting the room with a smoky after-explosion air.

She choked, her body shaking with mounting sobs, her ribs shouting in protest.

With the rasp the paintbrush made on the canvas, she'd hoped to erase that loud quiet cloaking her like a miasma, but she was wrong. Sometimes her ears pretended to hear a deafening, cacophonic _BOOM, _but at times they rang with the lack of noise, making her want to whimper. It was full-blown urban madness. And it wasn't going away.

* * *

Thanks to all your support, you've been feeding me as much entertainment as I seem to be feeding you with Moving Forward. Keep it up! 

By the way, I hapen to be looking for a beta reader, and although Fenris seemed to offer before anyone else, if they don't want the job, I am still officially looking. I no longer have Office on my laptop you see, so my spelling has unfortunately gone AWOL. Also, because there is no such thing as Lease as in a property here in the UK, I'd like to know more about it, I think I might incorporate it later on. Gosh, sighs I have to say I hadn't envisaged Moving Forward to be more than 3 chapters at the very very most, but I am nowhere near finishing ... and yes, I will tell you what that particular _incident_ was between Cameron and House before the explosion. Review again!


	4. Make the sky fall

A.N. Thanks very much for all your support. I forgot to mention at the beginning of the last chapter that the lyrics taken from Snow Patrol and U2 don't (obviously) belong to me. Oh, and I also (unfortunately) don't own any of these characters, though I am enjoying using them immensely. Read on!

* * *

MOVING FORWARD 

Chapter 4: …MAKE THE SKY FALL

"It appears that we have a lead as to what happened down there, Dr. Cuddy. Of course, we still have to make the preliminary tests to make sure, but if the other leads are eliminated, this is the best shot we have."

Cuddy sat her desk, hands folded in front of her, staring at the officer inquisitively. "Have you found the cause? Was it some kind of malfunction, a system break-down from one of the machines?"

The officer was in his element now, having dealt with these situations endless times in his long career. "We're waiting for confirmation from the crime department, but it appears that it wasn't a … malfunction per se within the lab."

Cuddy's eyes narrowed speculatively, a frisson of warning running down her spine. Somehow, she had an inkling she would not be hearing good news. She forced herself to speak in a calm manner.

"The crime department? Investigator Hayes, what are you trying to tell me?" Cuddy's voice sharpened. "Was that explosion the result of a sabotage?"

Hayes looked at her steadily. "I'm sorry ma'am, but until we get proof, we can only speculate, form hypotheses. We are not excluding any possibilities here, and given the … ah … fragility of the situation, I'm afraid we also have to take into account that there could be one or more members of staff involved in the crime."

"Crime?" Cuddy's voice rose, her hackles showing.

"Staff? Are you implying a doctor or a nurse working here in my hospital did this? Since when did _this_ become a crime? I thought you said it looked like an accident?"

"Look ma'am, I appreciate your concern but as I said –" Hayes looked annoyed when Cuddy cut him off.

"Hayes I understand you're just doing your job, and that you have to follow certain procedures, but I am the dean of Princeton-Plainsboro, and if the precinct will have my staff accused or investigated, I need to know more than just the mere traces of your 'hypotheses'. I demand that you stop wasting my time and tell me in simply terms. What happened?"

The officer hesitated, looking clearly uncomfortable at this switch of control. "It appears that the incident in the lab was due to an explosive device set up in one of the test rooms."

Cuddy's eyes widened, her mouth slightly open. She kept her sharp eyes pinned on the man shifting impatiently in front of her. So that was why he'd refused to take a seat; he'd feared to be within her hands' (which were now itching to grab something and shake) reach. Her voice was surprisingly smooth when she spoke again. "Are you saying someone put a bomb in my hospital?"

* * *

The rain pelted the windows harshly that night, as though its sole purpose was to tear down the walls protecting him. 

The scotch lay abandoned by the large sofa, retribution for a hard day's work, which had proved more difficult for a variety of reasons.

Bitter loneliness coupled with an unexplainable unhappiness burned his gut more than any measure of alcohol could. It seemed like tonight would be one of those nights where he was could not sleep and could only pace for a while before pain forced him back into his cold, solitary bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. House felt unfulfilled, scared and confused because for the first time in years he was unsure as to where his life was taking him, and whether he had any strength left to walk down that road.

Tonight, House felt like he had nothing more to give.

His body felt like lead, battered and heavy, but the jumpiness crackling over his nerves told a story of frenetic energy, of unused strong muscles mourning the loss of exercise, intense and breathless like they could once work through, bringing his body in brief co-ordinated contact with his triumphing soul.

His mind scoffed in mocking disgust, but his heart rebelled in secret, bubbling with need to shed long-held pent-up feelings. House ground his teeth as some of the feelings overflowed and spilled forth into his being, which immediately drew back with a hiss, growling in feral warning - the feelings had scalded him.

He knew what it was like to be burned and to be attracted by fire, and not necessarily in that order.

That's what Stacey had been in their intense relationship. A strong, attractive, consuming fire with which he'd danced for a number of years, utterly confident he wouldn't get burnt. In the end he didn't get burnt, oh no, that would involve uncomfortable weals forming on his skin, red and sore and uncomfortable. He'd been consumed by it, and eventually destroyed so thoroughly there were very little pieces of him that could be salvaged.

Walking out of the fire had brought relief, but that had been short-lived, and soon it had been replaced by a deeply entrenched bitterness, which masked well the hurt and the anger, and the stout blow to his pride, his masculinity, the one thing he'd briefly had straight after the infarction.

He'd never been able to go near women again, unless they were generously paid hookers that could only stave his appetite for physical closeness for a brief period of time. House's gaze fell onto his leg, and the bitterness threatened to drown him as it seethed forward.

He was tired of feeling like this, on one side empty and aching and lonely, on the other seething with a deep hurt he masked well with sarcasm and at times cruelty, as well as selfishness. He hated nights like this, because he wasn't in control.

He no longer had faith, and that was another mourned loss, one he hadn't felt leaving until he no longer had it within himself to wake up and _believe_ that things could get better, unless it was work.

Outside, the rain battered the glass panes, howling in tune with the wind.

To House, it felt like the rain had penetrated inside, his space, his life, and the glass panes of his window were replaced with his battered heart.

* * *

Stop shrieking, she whimpered fearfully. I can't stand the noise. 

BOOM!

Cameron's breath caught and she brought her arms around her frame in the hope it would bring her some warmth, however fleeting. She felt chilled to the bone.

_Smoke filled her lungs, and she coughed in reflex action, her lungs burning as they automatically heaved the substance out of her system. Her eyes watered, but she couldn't brush the soot away, her weakness forcefully reminded by the heavy object crushing her chest to the ground._

Cameron watched as the young woman (whom looked remarkably like herself) struggled, feeling utterly numb and detached.

Ina sudden rush, the fog blurring her brain lifted, and Cameron thought in a rush of dismay, "_What's happening to me?_"

She shook her head and stared blearily at the bright TV in front of her, projecting harsh light into the otherwise dark room. She was ghostly outlined in stark grey-white, and the headache intensified. Cameron wearily looked for the remote, but it was sitting a few feet away from her, and she was rather reluctant to get up.

When she stood up Cameron was hit by a sudden wave of dizziness, and she watched, disenchanted, as the room tilted crazily and she ever so slowly fell back onto the sofa, feeling momentarily disoriented. She ran a weary hand across her clammy face and sighed.

When she managed to turn off the TV, she briefly looked uninterestedly outside, where rain ran in rivulets over the window, and then sat again in the sofa, staring numbly at a spot hidden in the darkness of the room. Though her chest hitched as though she were crying, Cameron felt devoid of all emotion.

On the third night she was forced to take some sleeping pills to actually get more than half an hour's sleep at a time, Cameron realised she was actually having a conditioned response to the trauma. She felt like she couldn't talk to anyone about it, even if both Foreman and Chase made it perfectly clear she could give them a ring any time, and they'd be there for her pronto.

Her ability to think properly was impaired, because she was so emotionally as well as physically tired, and even the smallest of tasks seemed like gigantic hurdles she was pushed to jump.

Also, and as if everything weren't enough, she couldn't digest anything more elaborate than toast or fruit, so her energy levels were constantly low; even the smallest of noises made her jump out of her skin, and her heart beat erratically for a long time afterwards.

As she wearily placed a book back into her shelf Cameron winced as pain shot through her chest, as well as her abdomen and her shoulders. She lowered herself carefully onto the sofa tucking her feet under her in a carefully controlled movement, being careful not to jar her ribs again. It was time for dinner but she did not make a move to prepare anything she could eat, for a number of reasons, the foremost one being mentally unprepared to deal with anything for the rest of the night.

She didn't know how she'd managed to fall asleep, but the fact that her next door neighbour's entrance made the door bang was highlighted by Cameron's startled movement that shot her in an upright position, terribly awake and alert, her heart going ten miles a second.

Without warning she felt tears prickle her eyes, her throat constricting.

How was she going to deal with this?

I'm so tired, she thought blurrily.

I can't sleep more than half an hour without waking up, unless I load on sleeping pills, I can't eat anything that will actually sustain my hunger longer than an hour because my stomach can't process it, everything seems to be pressing in on me, I'm alone and so cold, and so tired and I just want it to end-

She cried out when a few, short bangs sounded at her front door.

If she thought her heart had been beating rather fast, it was nothing compared to how quick it was pumping now. Her breaths came out as ragged and cold fear gripped her limbs, locking them into an uncomfortably upright foetal position, with her knees pressing rather painfully into her tender ribs.

After a short pause, the bangs resounded again, echoing in the small hollow of her silent apartment. She mentally whimpered and wished for whoever was at her door at 9:30 pm to just go and leave her in peace. Whoever it was however, did not appear to have giving up in their plans, for they banged on the door again, rather forcefully this time, and now they were accompanied by a deep voice she knew well.

"Cameron?" at the sound of his voice Cameron's knees went weak and she slackened her grip on her legs, slowly uncurling herself into a more relaxed position. She got her feet under her and slowly pushed off the sofa, heading slowly towards the door, her heart now beating frantically.

Against her own will, her hands immediately opened the door and as he came in, they curled tightly on his sleeves. House frowned as he studied her complexion, taking in the physical signs that told him she wasn't well as clearly as though she was listing them herself. He inwardly worried and strived to remain calm and be as unattached as he could, though a small voice told him he'd lost that battle the night they…

Stop, he told himself, focus on her.

He gruffly spoke out, eyes staring level into her wan features, marked by exhaustion.

"How are you doing?"

Cameron cleared her constricted throat, trying desperately to strive for a detached tone, and she inwardly grimaced when her voice sounded weak and strained.

"I…ah…I'm not-"

She shakily released the breath she wasn't aware of holding and stared at the ground. In that one moment she looked so lost and so vulnerable House felt slashing in the region of his chest – more specifically, the heart.

He ignored it and focused his attention once more on the frail-looking woman he could no longer carry on regarding as just the silly sentimental doctor who happened to work for him.

"I take that to mean you're…_not_ doing well."

Her hands twisted in a futile attempt to stall the conversation and be strong enough to hold up her head. No matter how deep she delved, there seemed to be no strength left in her being, no backbone that would give her some footing, enough pillars for her to hold on to.

House gruffly cleared his throat and tried again to get her to talk.

"Have you eaten anything?"

Her whispered 'no' reached his alert ears, and his face twisted slightly as he regarded her slightly shaking frame, realising instantly it wasn't the cold that made her shake.

Cameron waited for something else to be said, but it seemed that House was more interested in studying her intently rather than speaking. After a lengthy pause, one where Cameron squirmed tiredly under her boss' sharp eyes, House finally spoke up and once again took her by surprise.

"Get some stuff ready and wear something a little warmer, we'll go over to my place. I'll make dinner and then we can … watch TiVo and stuff."

Cameron stared at her boss in surprise, trying to read his intentions but putting so much effort into something so complicated on an empty stomach in the state she was in left her feeling rather weak and even wearier than before. She sighed and rested her frame carefully on the wall closest to her.

"You don't have to do anything, House. I can take care of myself – "

House interrupted her passionate little speech with a jeering twist of his mouth. "Then why aren't you?"

Cameron looked down at the ground once more, feeling confused and tired and she was going to cry again, in front of him of all people, so that he'd think her weak and with a snort of disgust, he'd limp out of her apartment in superiority.

However it seemed that maybe, just for that night, House was prepared to compromise and reach her three thirds of the way, which was more than generous (and unexpected) of someone who blatantly refused to even look at things her way and try to respect her decisions or feelings.

"You obviously can't do it yourself so you need someone to do things for you right now."

As he stared into her desolate little face, her mouth turned downwards in a manifestation of her current fragility and insecurity, he felt resolute even as a small side of him bloomed with sympathy and took over.

"It's ok to not be able to control yourself after you've been in such a tragic event; you don't always have to just depend on yourself and I … can be there for you, if you need me to."

Cameron looked him in the eyes and realised through the confusion fogging her sleep-deprived brain that it took a lot for him to say such things and even more to offer himself up to her as a shoulder to cry on, since she knew very well that he detested weakness and scorned human emotions in general. Even in her current state of mind, she appreciated him for what he was trying to do, and fell for him even more because that was his way.

"Give me two minutes."

As they walked up to his bike, Cameron stumbled slightly, and was stopped from landing flat on her face by House's steadying arm, which had seemingly come out of nowhere. She looked up at him dazedly for a couple of seconds, having momentarily forgotten his incredible ability to move very quickly and gracefully despite his limp.

His hand rested on her elbow as he guided her the rest of the way, and she hadn't felt so … whatever it was she feeling in such a long time, relief flooding her being.

When he made sure she was strapped in properly behind him, and after securely locking her arms around his lean waist, House speeded off into the night, the bike thrumming under his body in a familiar manner, giving Cameron a strong sense of security she hadn't felt since her husband died.

His apartment was clean, uncluttered and had a unique style that described a previously unknown side of House, whom had dumped her stuff on an empty armchair by the window and disappeared somewhere, leaving her to take in her surroundings. The townhouse was decorated with a blend of leather and traditional furniture and rugs and paintings that, together with things that were so uniquely him made for a dashing masculine ensemble she immediately liked.

When he appeared again briefly, he told her to make herself comfortable and that he wouldn't be long.

About five minutes after she settled herself rather stiffly upon the rich brown leather sofa, an enticing aroma floated form the kitchen to her, and she unconsciously sat up straighter as her nose sniffed the air appreciatively.

When he'd finished he returned to her with a couple of delicious looking dishes that instantly made her mouth water in sweet anticipation. He'd made some simple green salad, which complimented a set of plump breast chicken filets covered by wonderful lemon sauce.

She dug in with appreciating enthusiasm, her discomfort momentarily pushed to the side, and watched as House did the same in his own spot on the sofa, looking completely relaxed and more … open… which made her stomach flutter with butterflies, because she'd never seen him like this, and it only made him more attractive in her eyes, which in turn made her want him more.

They ate with gusto, although Cameron felt she would pay later for splashing out on such an indulgence, given that her digestive system was rather fragile at the moment, she was more relaxed here with House of all people, in his own territory -which she'd ended up in on _his_ own terms- than she'd felt in her own home in the past few days after the explosion at the hospital.

Talk was casual and sparse, but to Cameron, it was like coming home to find a warm fire in the living room after a hard day's work, on a cold, frosty day.

He showed a side of himself she had only glimpsed on extremely rare occasions at the hospital, but the difference was that although he made it clear he was in control in his own office and in his own department, here he clearly felt at home an in complete belonging.

When he asked her how she was feeling, she was able to answer him truthfully and more promptly. Cameron reflected that coming over at his place had done her a lot of good. Her muscles were loose and relaxed in her lazy, contented position on the sofa (she'd somehow managed to wind up very close to his side) and her head was no longer spinning: she could actually think clearly now that she'd relaxed and had something to eat.

"You've been having problems, haven't you?"

House looked at her with his breath-taking blue eyes and she felt herself melting under his direct gaze. Her heart palpitations were back, and this time they were caused by his proximity and the effects he had on her all the time.

"I… haven't been able to sleep properly since I left the hospital. My … I have gastrointestinal inefficiencies and I keep getting dizzy. My chest and shoulders hurt, but that's just normal after the accident-"

A frog entered her throat and she could no longer speak. House gazed at her steadily.

"It sounds to me like you're suffering from PTSD. Which, considering the circumstances, is only to be expected."

It made sense of course; he always did.

The symptoms on their own were rather puzzling, but combined together they made up a clearing if somewhat disturbing picture, one she found to her dislike, because she was her own patient this time, and that made things a lot harder. The gastrointestinal problems, the dizziness, the chest pain, the inability to sleep properly as well as the nightmarish flashbacks of the explosion all pointed out to PTSD.

Suddenly the conversation was no longer to her comfort, and she hastened to get up off his sofa and leave.

His hand, warm and strong on her arm, restrained her from moving away – in fact he used it to pull her closer to him, till their arms and shoulders and knees touched and their faces were mere inches away.

"You can't deal with this on your own. Is there anyone you can call, someone you can rely on, like your parents? A sister or a cousin? I would suggest Foreman and Chase, but that would just be weird, especially since Chase isn't equipped to deal with a bug, never mind a real woman. Who can you call?"

Her voice was more a whisper than anything, but because of heir proximity, he heard her perfectly.

"No one. I can do this on my own. Believe it or not, I'm a big girl."

House huffed in annoyance. "This isn't about your age or your capacity to make your own big decisions, pay your bills and drive your own car to work. You need help, and if you can't call someone to stay with you and support you, then … "

He paused, as though unsure of what he wanted to say, or perhaps doubtful of what he was feeling.

"Then…what?"

Cameron didn't look away as House's eyes searched her own, seeming to delve deep into her soul, past her cardboard defences and into her soul, reading it as though it were an open medical book, and with just as much interest.

"Then you can stay here. I'll get you through this."

Cameron broke their gaze and made as if to get up again. House would have none of it. He tightened his grip on her arms and brought her even closer to him, embracing her so she had no choice but to lean into him.

"I'm not one of your puzzling cases that require a differential diagnosis, House. The fact that you believe I can't handle PTSD on my own doesn't mean you have to volunteer to play physician and baby-sitter."

"I'm not offering to be your baby-sitter, and I'll certainly be your main physician, though you are entitled to a second opinion if you wish. I am not offering to help you because I am your boss, or because we are friends, or because of other unselfish reasons."

"Then why are you doing this?"

House avoided her searching eyes, focusing on her mouth for a moment. He then looked down at the soft, pliant body resting in his arms, and found himself inching closer to her face, being overrun by this sudden strong desire to kiss her.

"Because I want to be the one you can turn to anytime you need to. Because I think of you on nights like this, and it's torture because you drive me crazy with your unselfishness and your caring nature, and at the same time I can't help but want to drown in your affectionate ways, and lose myself in you till I don't know where I end and you begin. I need you to need me as much as I need you, and while that thought alone scares the hell out of me … I can't go on pretending I feel nothing anymore."

Cameron stared at him, completely dazed by his confession. He'd never led her to think he cared about her in any way, and now that he revealed such deep feelings, she found it rather hard to believe it was real.

"I'm not saying this is going to be easy, or that I'll be the man you want me to be, but I want to give this … us… a try. I used to think about you, and getting closer to you, and every time I did I just wanted to back away from you as far as I could, but after what happened down there … I can't help but be overcome by this … whatever this is…and I don't want to hold out anymore."

"House…you are exactly how I want you to be. I wouldn't want you to change, because I like you and care for you the way you are. I don't expect this relationship to be a romantic fairy-tale, because that's not your way, and I wouldn't want it. Why … now, after all this time?"

House remained unflinching, though his eyes spoke of some deep intense emotion he tried to keep hidden.

"Because this, us … matters to me. You matter to me."

He brought her closer till she was partly resting on his good leg, their chests into contact, and kissed her deeply, drawing out the feelings he'd felt for a long time, coaxing an answer from her, no longer restraining her, but cradling her soft body against his.

They told each other all they could that words would not say through that one kiss, and both made fantastic leaps to get closer to the other the way they thought the other wanted them to. It was sheer perfect unison, a meeting of the souls, and it wasn't perfect and romantic or tingly; it was deep, and at times harsh and needy and wanting, each coaxing the other to open up to them with as little resistance as possible.

House broke off the kiss when both needed air, and they stared at each other as though seeing the other for the very first time. He gathered her in comfortable position and cradled her to his chest, briefly kissing her forehead, softly running a comforting hand up and down her arm.

This was nothing like he'd felt with Stacey. Even they'd had their moments, they had always left him feeling unsure and unfulfilled in some way.

With Cameron, things were different.

With Cameron it wasn't fire that consumed him and ate away at his rationality. It was like drowning in cool water that was deep and blue, a soothing balm to his damaged soul, like floating up and away in space, seeing stars up close, feeling like if he just reached out, he'd be able to touch them.

Cameron snuggled gratefully into House's embrace, pushing away the uncomfortable notion that she might be getting in over her head. Such thoughts has no placed in the here and now.

Not when she felt like she'd come home.

* * *

Once again keep supporting me on this, I appreciate all comments! Merry Christmas to you all and a happy new year! X x X

Lady Zee


	5. Abstract Lines

**MOVING FORWARD**

**Chapter 5: Abstract Lines**

The piano keys strummed clearly in the quiet apartment on Monday night. The fingers played skilfully and with a suppressed passion that hid behind personal enjoyment.

The music was intense and told the story of a lifetime, first the childhood years, brief and playful, then the slow ascension to adulthood, the maturing of the music mimicking the blooming maturity of the person's tastes. Graduating from John Hopkins was expressed with sharp crescendo, the optimistic dream of a lifetime, the satisfaction and self-pride in having finally achieved one's desires.

The melody changed gradually, though subtly at first, almost like there was nothing behind the strong music, as though the dark underlying notes skulking in the background were part of a perfectly composed song. Slowly but surely the dark notes began getting sharper and more insistent, more obvious, no longer hiding. Subsequently the melody itself changed topsy-turvy, and it was now the positive notes that were smothered in the background, hovering in the hope they'd get a chance to shine once more.

A hint of passion entered the melody at the same time cynicism crept and slid inside twining as one with the rest of the melody, making it darker, but not quite complete. Something was missing. As trust finally entered the mix, the melody settled once more into a vibrant rhythm, a strong piece that reached out to the audience. Unfortunately with trust also entered pain, and finally betrayal, and now the melody turned sharp with bitterness, expressing the hurt behind the pride coming out of an act that was unexpected and that spoke of deep disappointment and a burning betrayal.

After that the melody was altered completely, no longer strong music which vibrated lightly, a mocking paradox of melancholy and unexpressed emotions, of dark brooding and sarcasm, each high note mocked by a lower, deeper one, its perfect counterpart, creating a devastating effect of obstinacy and resentment. The notes struck deep with an underlying sadness that despite several brutal attempts could not be crushed away.

A record of disillusions and betrayal and hurt, a fallen man struggling to cope with the outside world and retaining a shred of dignity, defending himself constantly of all emotion that could be described as human, because he no longer wished to relate to humans. He preferred the dark, savage world of loneliness he'd created for himself, even though a small inner part of him cried out for just the opposite. He brutally crushed it under his boot heel, heedless of the pain that caused him.

Just as the music reached a crescendo, it subtly started changing again, like the leaves on a fallen tree, slowly bringing forth new buds of life into the world, signalling that it wasn't dead, it had simply been waiting for the right time to live again. High notes mingled softly with the deeper ones, till they struck tension once more, searing in their stark sound, before slowly hovering into a somewhat settled but still troubled state.

The event had come unexpected, and it too, like previous unexpected things in his life, hurt and rocked the foundations of the essence of the song. When it descended to a settled sonata, it sounded troubled and bleak, at times the notes high then immediately lower, as though in confusion.

The sonata paused on a mistaken couple of bars, ending abruptly.

Then it hesitatingly started again, as though timidly advancing upon something that it feared. The notes were now played much slower, with caution, hackles ready to be raised, and the tension was ready to creep in at any moment, but then the fingers picked up their speed once more, gaining confidence with the music, a bittersweet sonata of relief and tentative openings, of breathless hope and hidden fear, because it had been such a long time since the melody struck such bars in a similar sequence.

The fingers though halting, and at times clumsy, still somewhat remembered the keys they had once traced, invoking old ghosts to come back to the surface. The sonata turned again, a small modicum of hope and light had crept back into the bars, unexpected but not painful – but with it, a warning sign, like a horn resonated in the music.

Travellers beware; here be monsters.

Now the sonata vibrated with the unmistakeable sound of love, but it wasn't a perfect romance, it was twisted and a live thing, ready to attack and defend itself at a moment's notice, unused to being unrestrained, having been kept on a very short leash for the past five years. It had been mistreated so whenever it was approached, it reacted on instinct and reared its head, trying to defend itself from an attack and fend off the enemy at the same time.

The melody was now slow and no longer hesitant, but wasn't played as superbly as moments before – the musicianship was still of a high standard, but the quality itself had been lost somewhere in the translation; it was played more with the heart itself than the skilled musician's hands.

Passion warmly tinted the romantic melody, sharpened by desire and a need that went beyond the physical, beyond the borders of conception, as fleeting as a butterfly's touch and just as delicate, yet with a strong driving need of being fulfilled and to fulfil in return. It was complex and it was far from perfect, but it was real and it was part of the melody, had always been a part of it, and now that the sonata had changed once again, so had the need found the opportunity to be expressed, to be exposed.

Somehow that one sonata, completely made up on the moment and not simply recorded as cold sheet music, managed to be more true, more pure than anything they had ever heard up to that moment in their lives, and slowly but surely his and her heart began a slow process of healing, intensified by the music flowing from his fingertips, a healing balm to their damaged souls, which rose and met and clung together in a rare moment of tenderness and complete understanding and acceptance.

* * *

The door opened softly, making the woman look up in sharp impatience at her quivering assistant, who hated confrontations with his feral boss, despite the fact she was a woman. His voice came out low and apologetic, just cause for interrupting her muddled runaway thoughts. 

"Detective Hayes here to see you, Dr. Cuddy."

A sharp nod was contrasted by a professionally calm tone. "Show him in, Jason."

Jason obediently disappeared then came back, with Hayes trailing his footsteps, a calculating glance around the office before settling on the administrator's face, gestured for him to go in, then softly stepped backward and gently shut the doors.

Silence filled the office for brief moments suspended in time, each party carefully evaluating the likely outcome of this meeting, dancing and skirting around the issue on Cuddy's part, gentle but resolute steps as Hayes' argument.

"Detective Hayes, a pleasure seeing you again. I hope this time you can provide me with precise information regarding the explosion that took place in my hospital last week."

Cuddy softly stressed the 'my' in the last sentence, clearly stating that this time she wouldn't settle for anything but accurate details and if at all possible, the truth.

"Yes ma'am, I certainly can. After the necessary investigations it has come to light that the incendiary device was of a simple, crude but effective nature, clearly not the work of a pro, you'll be glad to know. However it has also come to our attention, especially as evidence gathered from the surveillance tapes, that someone managed to enter the hospital with the explosive completely undetected, and was able to place it in the deeper section of the laboratory. As you well know, they managed to get away unidentified, but it appears that they remained within the building till after the explosion."

Hayes took a deep breath and calmly waited for a response from Cuddy.

Cuddy looked deeply disturbed at the sudden revelation. Someone had actually sabotaged and indulged in terrorist behaviour in her hospital, and because of it many people got hurt, one of them a member of staff from the highly prized department of diagnostics. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of damage the explosion itself had caused to Princeton Plainsboro.

Right as they spoke a new office was being evacuated to serve purpose for the temporary lab they were setting up until the old one could be rebuilt, because it was unthinkable that a hospital that size and that famous run without a lab, no matter how rudimentary it might at the moment be forced to be. It was a start, Cuddy though decisively.

"So you're saying Detective Hayes that someone _did_ sabotage my hospital."

Hayes shifted into a more comfortable position on his chair opposite Cuddy's desk, regarding the dean with mounting respect for her ability to remain totally professional in spite of the investigations which were no doubt disrupting the hospital's routines, and making her job very difficult.

Nothing she couldn't handle of course; Cuddy hadn't been named Dean of one of the most successful hospitals of the entire country for being a weak creature. Although she wasn't as headstrong as … some of the staff were wont to be, she was resilient and very much capable of making a choice and flowing it through, no matter how hard it might be.

Her cut-off business interaction with Edward Vogler proved that about her character.

"Unfortunately nothing so far seems to suggest that the explosion within the lab was caused by anything else, and we also have reason to believe that it was done deliberately. The department itself suspects that this was the clever work of someone who wanted to extract some kind of payment from someone directly connected to the hospital itself, most likely a member of staff."

Cuddy blinked and poised her features into a tight mask of tense suspense.

"You think somebody was out to get a member of staff here at the hospital and caused the explosion as an act of revenge?"

"Of course investigations have all but terminated, but we have enough proof backing up our theory to allow us to carry on in the same direction. We'll let you know immediately if something else comes up of course, we are still incorporating all possibilities, but it is most likely that we will need your co-operation at some point."

Hayes cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair, to get closer to Cuddy, to engage her full attention and co-operation for the delicate part of the conversation he knew was coming.

"I want you to think very clearly now, Dr. Cuddy. You may take as long as necessary but it is imperative that you answer as truthfully as you can what I'm about to ask you. Do you have cause to think that anyone could instigate this person to extract revenge upon a member of your staff? Think carefully please, Dr. Cuddy."

Cuddy avoided his gaze, becoming somewhat troubled and uncomfortable at this sudden turn of events.

She had of course considered that something like this could happen, but she hadn't been prepared to face it so suddenly.

The books on her numerous shelves offered no guidance or comfort whatsoever in her hour of need, but her spine automatically stiffened, even as her heart fluttered and warred with unwillingness and sense of duty.

She returned to look at Hayes, who was acting as though they had all the time in the world, for which she was relatively thankful.

"There is someone who … fits the profile, here at the hospital. But his department is nowhere near the laboratory, in fact the two are not even on the same floor, so I don't see how he could possibly be involved in this – "

Hayes interrupted her quickly. "Let us be the judge of that, Dr. Cuddy. Even the smallest hint that someone would want revenge on the staff employed here at Princeton Plainsboro can turn out to be the pivotal point in this investigation. Please tell me who you have in mind."

Cuddy looked at Hayes in an assessing manner before leaning in her seat and speaking low, as though to avoid the walls hearing her answer.

"One of the doctors here at the hospital … you must understand he's the most brilliant doctor working here…well, his bedside manner isn't exactly what you would call accommodating, perhaps even existent, if you get my meaning. He is abrasive enough at times that … well perhaps he –"

"Messed with the wrong person?"

Cuddy hesitatingly nodded, not sure whether or not she was doing the smartest thing.

"Exactly. As I said, his department is in no vicinity to the lab, but right now I can't think of anyone who would be more perfect for the job, if you'll excuse my terming. He has had plenty of lawsuits in the past before, but I assure you that he remains brilliant and professional and utterly consumed in diagnosing and treating his patients, even if he avoids meeting them like the plague."

Hayes stared unblinkingly into her eyes, searching for confirmation of his suspicions.

"But could this genius paragon of yours instil enough feeling or reasons for the injured party to want to hurt him, possibly permanently?"

Cuddy looked back at Hayes, feeling like she was slipping down a dangerously steep slope, but being unable to stop herself from making the painful tumble towards the ground.

"Yes."

* * *

A.N. thank you again for you support, nothing else keeps me going, keep it up! 

I was actually having trouble with writing this chapter because I am unsure of where this is going, and how to develop it, so I have decided to just sit down and methodically work through my ideas, before typing them out. I have to say I am quite impressed with this piece given my writer's block, especially with the sonata part at the beginning – I honestly have no idea where THAT came from! I decided to leave you all with a bit of a cliffie, but don't worry, hopefully chapter 6 will be making its swift way into the story. Any helpfully constructive comments and criticisms are welcomed, so don't forget to review and tell me what you think! Any suggestions as to possible plot twists are also welcomed, and I am still looking for someone to fill out as beta, so please come forward.


	6. The innocent have no sleep

**MOVING FORWARD**

CHAPTER 6:

_The innocent have no sleep_

* * *

His breathing was slow and regular, a clear sign of sleep.  
She was somewhat surprised he didn't snore and found the slight sound of his breathing a soothing lullaby, his warm body lying next to hers warding off the chill residing in her bones. Allison stared towards the sleepy world she could glimpse through the window of his bedroom and was weary from the effort to try to understand and come to terms with what had happened to her. The explosion had quite literally rocked the foundations of her life and turned it upside down. She felt unsure and scared of moving or making the tiniest of steps, lest she tumble forward in what was now a confusing, topsy-turvy world. She felt very awake and aware of the various noises that belonged to the night. 

There were shadows playing across the ceiling directly above their - _his_ bed.

A small sensation of trepidation made her spine tingle; she had to be very, very careful with this new...thing...she had with House. He could be so cruel, so unpredictable, had a veritably enormous power to destroy things and make them look ugly and utterly insignificant - it's how he'd made her feel from time to time as his fellow. Her own feelings towards her boss now confused her. Allison no longer knew whether she hated him or ...or what? What else could she feel for the brilliant, crabby, 40-something teenaged man sleeping beside her except an obvious amount of respect - he was her boss - and a rather unhealthy fear of his judgement of her capability of being a good doctor?  
He'd made her doubt that too; more times than she was comfortable with. He'd done it to all of them, she supposed, in one way or another...even Cuddy and Wilson must have stumbled on that particular snag.

She didn't really feel sorry for Chase, because quite frankly, he thought himself bigger than he was, so the odd slap-down he got from House could only do him good, she thought dispassionately.  
Foreman...was a different story, as he could at times resemble House uncannily, or at least the way they approached diagnosis.  
She wasn't mad about the article anymore, but something between her and her colleague had changed, broken off along the way. Things were at times awkward between them, though neither made a move to be any friendlier than needed.

Allison sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position, willing her body to just go to sleep for a few hours, to escape the engulfing sensation of scrabbling at the walls as she sank down into a dark pit, with no warmth or hope. She closed her eyes and tried to force her mind to go blank of all thoughts, her breathing to slow and to focus on her centre, like her yoga instructor taught her.

It was no good.

If anything it made her feel like someone was slowly choking her, that her body, suddenly heavy, dented the mattress so much that it was threatening to make a hole in it. She frequently felt like she was falling, her body clumsy and bared to all hurts an eventual tumble would bring. This state of mind sapped her of her strength and chipped away at her perseverance.

Tears unexpectedly prickled her eyes, her throat working to clamp down on a sob threatening to escape from the very depths of her soul. Allison clenched her fists and tried her best not to make a sound as she carefully folded the covers back, swinging her legs to hang over the side of the bed. She padded softly across the room to the closed door, her hand poised over the handle, when she looked back at the figure sprawled on the bed she just vacated. He looked younger in his sleep, less harried, much more innocent of all wrong-doing.  
A desire to rain light kisses all over that innocent, sinful face till their eyes clashed almost overcame her - almost.  
She exited his bedroom and softly shut the door behind her, trying to get her bearings around his apartment in the dark.

The sleepless malice in her mind brought her to stand at a window of his living room, gazing but not really seeing the world outside, still sponsoring some young clubbers returning home after a night out drinking, and yet despite this, blessedly empty of the hustle and bustle that dominated the streets in daylight.  
She carefully arranged herself into a sitting position on the spacious window-seat, her knees resting against her chest, hugged by her lax arms.  
Perhaps letting him take her to his apartment hadn't been such a good idea, after all. If she were home now she would no doubt be venting her dark feelings on the canvas waiting for her in her little art room.  
She'd be able to slap paint on its rugged surface, or perhaps use chalks or oils to trace over the white expanse, and then savagely slash it with her knife, creating a rippled effect of overlapped little waves of paint, carefully smudged onto each other.  
She would do this until her arms could no longer hold the strain, her cramped fingers screaming in protest, the tension in her shoulders becoming unbearable, the emptiness she felt somewhat assuaged by exhaustion.

But there would be no such comfort for her tonight, she knew.

Despite what she told herself, Allison knew she wouldn't walk out that door.  
Leaving him now, after he'd been so caring, so warm and tender and patient with her as he tried to calm her fears would be a blow too low for her to inflict upon him. It reminded her of Chris, her husband; when he became terminally ill and she felt caged but would never think about leaving him. Her small wry smile didn't reach her tired eyes. It was the story of her life, she reflected drowsily. She'd never been able to walk away from someone - House, with his rugged good looks, biting wit and piercing blue eyes, was no exception.

Without quite realising how it came about, she found herself sinking into a state of cool contemplation bordering on near apathy, unseeing of what went on around her and unfeeling of the slight breeze that blew through the window. She was blind to the progression of the moon in the sky, but perhaps that was due to the thick film of tears resting unshed in her eyes, blurring effectively everything from her sight.  
Her head rested on her knees now, no longer supported by her tired hand, drooped like a wilting flower, its corona too heavy for the stem to hold upright.

She didn't hear the soft padding of bare feet on the floor, their rhythm broken by a muffled thud of rubber on wooden beams.

He didn't immediately try to disturb her position, merely taking his time in observing her, as she sat by the window, bathed by the pale moonlight filtering from the window. She looked ethereal, a chilly beauty on a winter night too far gone into herself to notice him looking at her, his sharp eyes trying to penetrate her consciousness and glean her dark thoughts, steal into her secrets.

She remained unmoving and unaffected by his brooding aura, didn't even acknowledge his presence.  
House didn't know if that was because she didn't have the strength to look up or if she hadn't realised he was there.

He felt a cold breeze licking at him through his pyjamas, effectively robbing him of the little warmth left from lying in bed, and he shivered. He hadn't realised that she'd opened the window, and grumbled about that state she reduced him to, the minute he woke up to an empty bed, discovering she was gone.  
House grabbed the throw puddle on his sofa and gently placed it on her chilled shoulders, cocooning her cold body in its folds before leaning over to close the window. She remained unmoving through all this; her head bent, resting on her knees, her limbs cramped together in an unconscious reflex to generate more warmth. She looked like a frail little desolate thing, tired to the bone, in no conscious state to fight back.  
He felt a stab of pity for her, but remained awkwardly standing by her for a moment, clearly unsure as to what to do to make her feel better and chase away this apathy that engulfed her, turning her into a stranger. This was not the Cameron he'd come to know and ( very secretly) attracted to. Wherever she was, it was in a deep, dark place, imprisoned within herself as a subconscious reaction of her mind as an attempt to cope with the accident - by locking herself away from everyone, unfeeling to all - away from him.

It was at that particular moment that she moved.  
Slowly, as though riddled by old age, her arm came out of the protective shelter the blanket provided, and grabbed his wrist. Without moving her head from its uncomfortable resting position, her chilled fingers sought his arm, wrapped themselves around his wrist, and were still.  
House felt a familiar resoluteness steal over him, and his eyes darkened imperceptively as he looked at her tiny white hand hold his own strong arm, his long fingers twitching as though wanting to thread through hers. He would find her, the real Cameron, and bring her out of wherever she was hiding, no matter what it took.

* * *

A.N: well there you go, I know there were quite a few people who were wondering what had happened to this story, and I will be blunt - I felt no inspiration that would give me an insight as to how to carry it forward, which is sort of ironic, considering the title of the story itself. Thanks for the continued support, keep it up, hopefully I will have more for you all very soon. R&R! 


	7. Treading softly

**A.N: **None of the characters so far mentioned belong to me, except for Hayes. Don't own don't sue. Enjoy.

**

* * *

MOVING FORWARD**

Chapter 7: Treading … softly

Morning dawned bright and chilly that day.

The light that filtered in through the window in the room woke him up out of the deepest sleep he'd managed since waking up in the middle of the night, sensing something had changed, to find her gone from his bed. He twisted his head and was unsurprised to find that side Cameron-less once more. He shifted closer to the spot where her body had warmed the mattress and pondered what he felt. He was use to waking up cold, tired and alone – that was how he preferred things, how he felt most comfortable – but somehow that had seemingly changed in the course of one night. He thought he should take that as a sign of alarm, and felt disturbed that he didn't.

House got up and stretched his long frame, muscles re-adjusting to him being awake, and joints stiff and popping loudly. He winced and pressed a hand against his lower back, trying to ease the tension he felt there from what must have been an uncomfortable sleeping position. He hopped closer to the armchair in the corner and grabbed his cane. Bare feet shuffling clumsily on the cold tile floor, House went into the corridor, his steps making a direct bee-line for the bathroom, but just as he got to his destination, he stopped and narrowed his eyes at the closed door.

That was strange. The door should be open. He stared at it in consternation, and was more dismayed to find the door actually locked. Then he heard the muffled sounds of running water filtering through the wood and, without being aware of it, closed his eyes for a moment.

She was in there, Cameron, in his shower, inside his bathroom, in his _house. _Delightful little fantasies started spinning idly in his mind as he digested that information.

His eyes gleamed as he stared intensely at the closed door. When she came out he'd offer to towel her dry, then sneakily push her backwards into the bedroom, in the general direction of the bed where … He frowned and grunted. The fantasy in his head deflated like a balloon, and then popped out of existence.

Stop it, he told himself. This is not the time to play the lurve-doc game.

He grumbled darkly under his breath and made his way to the kitchen, a Cameron-safe area, because she wasn't in there. He was alone, again.

He didn't give himself the time to ponder what him having fantasies about her while standing outside his bathroom was all about. Instead he busied himself looking for food in his cupboards to be put to use to preparing breakfast, something, again, he was not used to doing for someone, never mind himself.

House cocked his head to the side as the he looked speculatively around the kitchen, a pensive frown on his face. What kind of food would she like? Was she the yoghurty-type? He shivered at that possibility. He did _not_ do yoghurt. Maybe she liked cereal and milk, the kind with dried fruit? He hummed with dislike. He could offer her cereal, but his was of an entirely different nature. His was the cool-kids, chocolate kind.

What if she was one of those whining women who constantly moaned about their weight? He didn't recall seeing her have a healthy appetite at work … then again, he never usually left her the time to eat something more complex than a salad, preferring to take up her lunch-hour break for himself when he had lunch with Wilson. A small modicum of guilt ignited in his being, but he ruthlessly squashed it into non-existence.

House pirouetted on his feet and went for the fridge instead, where he'd find the perfect pancake ingredients.

Cooking for someone felt good, he reflected, as he expertly cracked the eggs and added a melee of milk and flour to a mixing bowl.

When Wilson had momentarily moved into his apartment after his third wife threw him out, he had been equally pleased to finally have someone with him, and disgruntled that his lonely, private party had been crashed. Of course, it had been funny to play pranks on Wilson, steal his lunch, make him wash the dishes even though they had been taking it in turns, and generally watch him as he stumbled throughout the apartment in a house-wife-like attempt to make it tidier. A wry chuckle escaped him as he poured the mixture in the processor and pressed the 'on' button. He pressed a hand on the large cap, set the timer then put the machine to work. When he was satisfied with the thickness of the mixture he poured it back into the mixing bowl then made his way over to the cooking area.

House was so engrossed in his work he failed to notice as Cameron entered the kitchen and soundlessly stopped in a corner where she could observe him to her heart's content without being noticed just yet. His movements spoke of expertise and well-adjusted practice, and, with the realisation that he was a good cook, came the surprise that he cooked fro himself at all. It was stereotypical of her to think that a man his age, single and shy of all work that included tidying up after himself would be able to actually cook good meals for himself, but she hadn't pegged him as the I-cook-for-myself type instead of the take-away-food-a-holic.

He'd managed to make four good sized pancakes in the space of ten minutes, the time it took for her to find him in the kitchen and hide from him. She was suitably impressed.

A small smile made its way into her tense features, almost softening them into a look of contentment. It would be the cherry on the cake if he hummed whilst he cooked, but she supposed, a wry smile twisting her lips, that that would be too much to ask. Cameron finally made her presence known with a pre-meditated clearing of her throat, which sounded like "hem, hem". That had the desired effect. He quickly whipped his head round to the general direction he'd heard the unwelcome noise, trying to fight the heat that made it way up his neck into his face.

Cameron was staring at him in a curious, almost quizzical manner, safely tucked away into a corner of the kitchen he would from now on call his "blind-spot", her arms crossed in a relaxed manner across her chest. He could not guess at what thoughts ran through her head as she took in the image of her cynical, grumpy boss cooking them an elaborate breakfast. Not that she considered making pancakes elaborate, but coming from a man she thought couldn't heat water in a pan; it was a lot to cope with.

"This," he said as he put the finished pancakes into two plates, "is much better stuff than IHOP. See what I did there?," and he pointed at a rather funny looking pancake, " that's what a pancake is meant to look like if it were to resemble the right hemisphere on a CAT scan of a cancer patient. Chef masters at IHOP couldn't achieve something _that _good."

Cameron stared bemused at the brain-look-alike, trying to see it from his enthusiastic point of view and realise just how that weird little cake resembled a carcinoma-riddled right hemisphere of the brain.

She smiled vaguely in his direction and helped him set out the table.

They ate in companionable silence – or at least it was companionable silence on her part, because he launched into a discussion about how phenomenal it was that middle-class white Americans moaned about taxes when they were said to be the biggest spenders of the nation, according to some survey he'd read about in an obscure place. Whilst not necessarily sharing his opinions, Cameron thought it nice that he still tried to involve her in the conversation, rather than just make a submissive listener out of her like he did at the hospital.

She had an inkling he was trying very, very hard to make her feel comfortable in his home, as well as himself, whilst not looking as though he attempted to draw her mind away from what had happened earlier on last week, in that lab.

At recognising the attempt for what it was, she appreciated him then in ways that she hadn't felt for him in a long, long time.

Their breakfast became more lively when he decided he could juggle fruit with one hand, balance a spoon on his nose and try to steal some of the pancakes from her plate – compared to his, her taste in pancakes ran much simpler – which made her smile a lot, and even laugh, when he instantly dropped the juggling objects, slid the spoon off his nose and proceeded to chew thoughtfully, a mock-judging set to his raw features.

He claimed the pancake to be an "acceptable example of a boringly ordinary flavoured pancake" and proceeded to attack her plate once more with his wily fork. A parry she promptly blocked with her own fork when he realised that he would probably be content stealing all her food if not meeting with resistance, and not letting her share any of his. A theory she proved correct when, with a twist of her arm, she lunged forward into his plate and attempted to try some of his pancake. Said action was met with a protective circle of his strong arms over his food, whilst sharply biting at her that it was _his_.

Cameron pouted a little then returned to finishing off her breakfast, heaving a contented sigh when she polished her plate and washed it all down with some juice.

"You are, surprisingly, a very good cook." Her eyes twinkled with a gentle light, the corners of her mouth twitching up in a small, fleeting smile.

He observed her relaxed pose and almost-content features with his sharp eyes, taking his time in observing every line and curve of her face, every shadow and fleck in her eyes. His intense stare made a familiar tightening of her stomach bloom in her belly for a moment, something she'd resignedly gotten used to feeling ever since the very first time they were face to face at her fellowship interview for a job in his department.

"I take it you were expecting a poor attempt to provide you with yummy processed food, or even to cook it yourself."

At her raised eyebrow, he sneered triumphantly.

"Once again, Dr. Cameron, you should never assume you understand how people like me work."

Cameron rested her head on her hand as she looked inquisitively at him, determined to not let him see how much every little thing he did affected her.

"And how do people like you work?"

House wiggled his eyebrows at her, his face a mask of mocking mystery.

"Stick around chica, and find out."

Cameron gave him a genuine smile before he retreated out of the kitchen to get dressed.

Once the dishes were hanging to drip, she made her way cautiously into his living room and sat down stiffly on his couch, very much aware of how uncomfortable she was once more with her being in his apartment. She looked around at the room and noticed things she hadn't seen in the dark last night, small things that belied a greater picture into his character.

She gazed with renewed interest at his shelves, a couple emptier than some, others full of books fit to burst. Most were, of course, about medicine – he was, despite his methods and bedside manner, a dedicated doctor – others about random subjects, and a small collection of literary works.

Cameron felt it would be too personal for her to look through his books so she contented herself with looking at the paintings scattered around in the room instead.

They were a sharp contrast to her own collection of Dali, Klimt, O'Keeffe and Mock. Instead his paintings consisted mainly of pop-art, old-culture posters, and sports, mainly golf and what she thought might be lacrosse, but wasn't sure. Others depicted the artist's view of bikes and classic era cars, but one of them caught her eye more than others.

She wandered closer to the painting, a small frown on her face, her eyes keenly tracing the black and white picture of a peculiar house standing in front of what was undoubtedly a lake. The structure itself was on solid metal stilts, but what she found truly extraordinary was that the house itself was made of glass, rather than stone, through which she glimpsed into the rooms inside.

She'd never seen anything like it, and was instantly fascinated by it.

There was a small attic-type space on top of the roof, which was completely flat, and, from what she could see, made of slates of some kind of sturdy material, possibly metal, like the stilts. Surrounding the house was the lake itself, where one could dip directly inside through the use of a ladder that set off directly from the back of the house. To get to the building itself, one had to cross a bridge of sorts, which began from the banks of the lake, flattened to make them more accessible, and ran all around the structure itself, in lieu of a porch.

So fascinated was she with the unusual structure, she didn't at first see the two figures standing off to the side of the photo, their backs to the camera, looking at the house. A small boy and a tall woman, her arms around the child, looked on at the wonderful scene building and nature depicted. It didn't look like a professional photographer's work, but Cameron sensed that this photo was very important to House, and her keen artist's eye recognised the overall feeling of the photograph – the great magnificent building standing tall over the water, the small unimportant people looking on at the scene with what would have undoubtedly been awe, but unable to touch it – an almost melancholic feeling of old things past, increased by the grain of the photo itself and the black and white scale. There was a small caption under the photograph itself, which she eagerly read with interest. In clear, straightforward font, it stated the date the photo was presumably taken, as well as the name of photo itself – the Lake house, Oregon. As she predicted, there was no artist's name.

The sound of a cane thumping on the ground jolted her out of her thoughts, and stumbled back instinctively when she found House standing very close directly behind her. His eyebrows rose slightly at her startled reaction, and she felt somewhat guilty, mentally chastising herself. She knew very well that he would never physically hurt her, but the explosion had instilled into her instincts of preserving herself, away from others.

He didn't comment on her behaviour, for which she was thankful for, and told her that whilst she was staying with him, if he cooked, she would be expected to do the washing up.

Back under control of her frantic behaviour, she challenged him with her eyes and replied that she'd already washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen.

House grunted in acknowledgement and made his way to the door.

She only realised what he was doing when he reached for his leather jacket, helmet and keys.

She felt a stab of disappointment that he was going out, undoubtedly leaving her here alone. She would call a cab and go home, curl up under the covers and stop herself from thinking too much of this frightening jumbled mess.

He surprised her once more when he turned round to her and extended the helmet to her.

Cameron looked him in the eyes in question, although she knew what that meant and was trying to make her heart stop beating foolishly erratically. Her chest felt weak enough as it was.

"Are you coming or what?"

For the briefest of moments she felt unsure of what to do. Call it a day and rush home with her tail firmly between her quivering legs then curl up in a corner in fright, hoping it would all disappear or … his blue eyes were practically shredding her soul with X-rays they were so intense. She felt her foolish heart give a few leaps again, and, as he stepped closer, she unconsciously brought a small hand up to her throat, a purely feminine display of the overwhelming emotion she was feeling. Whether he understood the semantics of that gesture, he didn't let on. Instead he waited for her to simply close the small gap between them and take the helmet in her hands. He was adamant that she would take it herself, or they would stay there all day, he would wait for her to make a move.

She continued staring into his eyes silently, as though studying a fascinating piece of mineral – a sapphire, perhaps, since they were so unnaturally blue, so breathtaking in their intensity …

There was an unspoken message in their depths now, one she felt only she could read because, inexplicably, he had let her get closer to him in the space of twenty-four hours than she suspected he had ever let anyone in the last two and a half years. A message she understood only too well, but it took a lot of strength for her to act on. Slowly, as though afraid, her small hand trembled as it made its way to his and after a second's pause, wherein he didn't break contact with her eyes, hungrily lapping up the tiniest of flections that indicated her mood – then she closed her fingers over the helmet and gently tugged it out of his large hand.

A ghost of a smirk played upon his lips, a mocking look that might have been verbally expressed as "that's my girl" twisted his features – a look that was closely mirrored by hers, which said "I appreciate you trying so hard with me" and they set off outside, both adjusting to the vicinity of the other to themselves, and treading carefully, because she was in such a vulnerable state and he was prickly that … it was best if they just things slow. A snail-pace type of slow didn't sound half-bad.

* * *

A.N: There is a blatant innuendo about the ... hem,hem **lake house** I conjured into a black photograph (yet another aspect that doesn't belong to me!) let's see if anyone guesses where I got that idea from ... and also why House has that particular picture in his apartment? Why is it so important to him? _**The Best Guess wins ... I dunno, perhaps a TEENY sneak-peek at the next chapter?? R & R.**_


End file.
